Sometimes I worry that people think that I write only to garner self-pity. That I am so desperate for *hugs* that I document every hospitalization or cancer diagnosis or surgery. (Eh. I fucking hate hugs.)
I write these stories as a way to remember. When I am not in pain, I am experiencing freedom. However, sometimes all the shitty feelings I have inside of me and all that bad impulses that I have resurface, even when I feel well.
I am jealous and I am petty sometimes. I am cranky a lot. So sometimes I go back and look at what I wrote when I was ill. I remember how much worse it could be. About how I should celebrate every moment of health, just as I abhor every moment of pain.
I believe that I have reached a lifetime's limit of pain. I believe that exists. I believe I will keep pushing that ceiling until I die. (Hopefully not before they make a Full House reunion movie.)
But I don't believe I will ever experience enough joy. I experience tiny moments of joy every day. It's what keeps me alive.
Today my jaws were cut open and I yelled loudly and kicked my shoe at a wall. It's 4 am and my gums bleed and I wait for painkillers to kick in.
Tomorrow I will do something joyful. I won't forget this pain, because it will never go away.
But I will remember and move on.
Because this joy? This joy keeps me alive.